


Beautiful

by BurntOrange



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lemon, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntOrange/pseuds/BurntOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know I'll not ask these things of you, as other men seem to have done.”<br/>“And does that ease your conscience?” she asked conversationally, face still blank “to know that you rank low on the long list of men who have damaged and abused me?”</p><p>Sansa is handed to Sandor and while she has almost resigned herself to life as a valueless pawn, she still has force behind her words. They each do the best they think they can, and perhaps become the best version of themselves they can, under the circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return to the Red Keep

“Would it kill you to look at me?” He snarled at the young redhead who had so graciously been assigned to him by the king. Sandor was being reunited with the court as it returned from months spent traveling while he had stayed behind. 

A dozen young lords and a few disreputable ladies lounged around the king's chambers, already soaked in drink and only just arrived back at the Red Keep. King Joffrey, also drunk, was pleased to be reunited with his Dog, and had been quick to hand the Stark girl the task of making sure Sandor enjoyed himself. 

Sandor refused to acknowledge his distress at realizing Sansa had become Joffrey's plaything during those months. She seemed to know her expected role very well and had kept the king's glass full since entering the room, prepared for his every order. 

Now sitting with the girl, and a girl she still was, on his lap Sandor felt as irritated as ever. She had changed, but she still wouldn't hold his gaze, she avoided it. He thought that they were in this together somehow, but she did not see it that way. She sat on his lap, even wrapped her arm around his shoulders and continually refilled his wine glass, but she could have been any whore he paid. He had admitted to himself a year ago the peculiar interest he showed in the Stark girl, but that interest only soured his evening now. 

'Would it kill you to look at me?', he had finally shot the words at her to relieve his own uncomfortable feelings. She slowly and deliberately turned her head and fixed her eyes on his. Her expression a blank, neutral smile. 

“Will there be anything else, Ser?” She asked. The edge in her voice cut through the wine induced haze Sandor was under and it irked him all the more. 

“Don't call me that” he spat back. 

Before Sansa could answer, Joffrey cut into the conversation, his speech slightly slurred “Watch your tone, Lady Stark, or I'll have the Hound whip you after he fucks you.” He laughed, joined by one of the nobel men sitting close by. 

She turned to the King and with an doe-eyed and tight lipped smile and murmured her apology as he spoke. Sansa did not appear visibly distressed by this threat, so far as Sandor could tell, though his whole body had stiffened at Joffrey's words. As she turned back to him she seemed to unknowingly raise her eyebrow in confused response to his reaction. He scowled at her in return and she allowed her hand that was wrapped around his shoulder to slide down his arm as she brought her other hand up to stroke his hair. Her face returned to the blank mask. 

She reached to get him another glass of wine. “No more” he growled sharply as she tried to hand him the glass. She pursed her lips and seemed to shrink in his arms as he scolded her, but she quickly replaced her mask and lifted the glass to her own lips, the first drink Sandor had seen her take all evening. 

“No need to be so rough, my lord. I'll do exactly as you say without such provocation.” 

Sandor set his jaw and glanced around the room. Most members of the party seemed to be slipping out and the few left were settling around Joffrey at his couch across the room, still laughing and drinking. Sansa quickly drained the glass of wine and set it down. She turned and adjusted herself so that she straddled one of his legs. She pulled at the ties of his shirt so that more of his chest was exposed. Sandor sat as rigidly still as a man who had drunk as much as him possibly could, one of his hands somehow wrapped around her calf muscle. 

She caressed the side of his head again “So what will it be, my lord?” she asked, quickly remembering his earlier complaint and snapping her eyes down to meet his gaze. “Would you have me on my knees, begging for your cock?”

How he disliked hearing that word escape her lips so casually. “or bent over the desk? Here? Your chambers? I'm yours to command.” 

His scowl deepened. “You know I'll not ask these things of you, as other men seem to have done.” 

“And does that ease your conscience?” she asked conversationally, face still blank “to know that you rank low on the long list of men who have damaged and abused me?”. Sandor twitched and his face twisted as she mocked him. She had not concealed her sarcasm as she finished the question. She flinched and lost her nerve at his reaction. When she realized he was not going to hit her she opened her eyes. She fixed an apologetic smile on her face. “Forgive me my lord. I don't know what I was thinking, the drink went quickly to my head. I-” 

He silenced her with a grunt and informed her softly but harshly “ye know exactly what you were thinking. Why say it to me?” 

Sansa glanced in the direction of the King before answering. “You still feel shame. Don't begrudge me the opportunity to relish one man's embarrassment for what he puts me through.” 

She returned his steely gaze with one of her own. 

He answered softly, even gently. “You make this harder on us both.” 

“Not on myself.” She answered plainly. For all the time earlier in the evening she spent avoiding his face, she made up for it now. 

“I've known exactly what would happen tonight since I walked in the room and saw you here. The whole court knows how you used to watched me. Joffrey couldn't wait to give me to you.” 

Sandor swore and found he could not meet her gaze. 

“What's it to be then?” 

“Nothing” he snarled. 

“It's this or you beat me.” She straddled him fully before he could answer. 

“I can't.” 

Her face was empty. 

He saw her eyes dart towards Joffrey and she brought her face to the crook of his neck and pretended to giggle about something. “Wrap your arms around my back and then I will walk you back to your room. You're too drunk for anything else, and he is drunk enough as well.” 

Sandor did as he was told.


	2. Entertainment at the Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I just want to get ahead of the story for a moment to point out that Sansa IS a very different person in this story, as I think would happen over time in this scenario. The rest I will leave to your interpretation except that I've aged her up a little, but still imagine her to likely be underage, maybe 17 or 18. I hope you enjoy.

He had trained himself to look at her less than half as much as he wanted. Not consciously, but self preservation came naturally to him. At the feast he stood behind the King's chair and had a full view of the room, including her, 20 seats away. She sat in a knot of younger courtiers. As the court settled back into the castle, Sandor was learning how she had found a place to fit in. Though it was known that she was the King's conscripted courtesan and the daughter and sister of traitors, her blood was still bluer than anyone but the Lannisters and Tyrells. She was beautiful and dressed in the latest fashions, and her new mask was a sly wit that kept a barrier between her and those around her. She was a desired companion in a group of merry makers, but no one was her friend and she was awarded no honor or respect, paid no compliments. 

It had been four nights ago when she had slept at the foot of his bed. Last night she had spent the night with Joffrey. The dress she wore had a high collar unlike the women around her, who followed Lady Margery's style trends, but even that couldn't hide the bruises that crept up onto her cheek. 

She laughed at something someone had said, added her own clever twist and giggled with the rest of them. This seemed to satisfy her quota of contribution for the time being, as her face became vacant and she glanced around the room. Her eye's lazily found Sandor and he held them for a moment before he looked away.  
When the meal was over, Sandor was relieved by Ser Osmond. Before he left his post, Joffrey called Sansa over to him. 

“Dog, would you like to have Lady Stark on your arm again this evening?” he asked with cruelty in his voice. “You do find her beautiful, don't you?”

“Aye, Your Grace.” He answered, looking at her smiling face. 

“Good. Well my Sansa, I don't want you to leave my Dog's side then.”

Sansa smiled as though it were some treat, took the Hound's arm and led him to a couch on the other side of the large hall. On the way, she took a glass of wine for each of them and refused the water pitcher used to dilute the contents. They settled on the seat and those in the vicinity subtly vacated the area. She had already been drinking that evening, but he had been on duty. 

“To the Queen Mother's health.” she toasted. The banquet was in honor of Cersie's nameday. They drank. 

“Your little flock of chickens won't be with you then tonight?” He finally asked. 

“You're the fox in the hen house I suppose” she quipped, and smiled glamorously at one of the ladies who walked by, smiling and waving and quickly moving on. “I thank you for scaring them away. It will be a blessed rest.” She turned her smile on him and it unsettled him. It seemed she was going to try to charm him this evening.

He drained his wine glass and she took a large sip of hers, joking about how she would have to work to keep up with him. They spent some of their time sitting in silence and he eventually suggested she find someone to dance with. 

“Joffrey said I'm not to leave your side.” She answered immediately. 

“Fuck that. I'm telling you to do it, so it won't matter.” 

She tried to keep her smile on but was clearly annoyed at how poorly he appeared to be reading the situation. “The last thing this party needs is Ser Osmond marching across the hall to backhand me.” she pointed out with a forced laugh. 

“He won't do that.” Sandor answered sourly, gesturing for another glass of wine. 

She didn't hide her irritation now. “You said you would never lie to me.” 

He raised his eyebrows for a moment, but quickly furrowed them. He remembered saying that to her, but was surprised to hear her repeat it. 

“Does that go both ways?”

“I made no such promises.” She stated as she took his glass and held it out for the wine pourer who had come to their corner. She drained her own glass while he poured and then held her's out as well. 

She drank the next glass quickly, and when Sandor took a third glass for himself, he refused to allow her glass to be refilled. He sensed her irritation, but she was back trying to please him. 

They sat a while longer, her trying to coax him into conversation about battles he had won, but mostly just sitting and smiling at him, touching his shoulder occasionally and waving and nodding at various courtiers as they passed by. 

Sandor focused on his wine glass and was mildly surprised when she decided it was time to leave. “The king won't mind if you come to my chambers now.” She announced. He stared at her and so she punctuated the point with a kiss below his ear. He allowed her to lead him up and towards the door. She turned to him before they left the hall. “Will you want more wine?” She asked innocently. 

“Yes.” he answered roughly. She grabbed a bottle for them to take with them to the room, and led him away.


	3. In her Chambers

When they arrived at her room she indicated a chair for him and excused herself to the privy. When she returned she went to the table to pour him a glass of the wine she had pilfered. She poured just the one glass and turned to bring it to him. 

“Pour yourself one if you like.” he told her. “Who am I to tell you when to stop?” 

She smiled sweetly “I'll not have another when my lord wishes me not to-”

“I'm NOT your lord.” he ground out angrily. 

“Yes you are.” She snapped back. 

“THEN GET A DAMN GLASS.” He couldn't articulate why he found the whole situation so irritating.

She bit back her response and turned her back to him to pour herself a glass. 

When she turned back her face was soft. She brought the glass to him and said very honestly “I'm sorry. That isn't what I wanted.” 

“Nor I.” was all he could respond. He took the glass, raised it to her in a mock toast and took a long drink. She took only a small sip and set her glass down. She ignored the seat next to his and sat on the floor at his feet. 

“Will you please tell me what you like?” she asked, so innocent again. She began to unlace his boots and he sat in silence and lifted his foot so that she could pull it off.  
She looked up at him and smiled. “I regret making you feel badly the other day. You were right, it makes it harder now.”

He still didn't answer, so she kept talking soothingly as she started on the next boot. “You see I'm not so broken spirited as he would like to believe” they both knew who he was, “and it's not so bad now as it was. And you've always been so good to me.” She had both his boots off and stood up on her knees to look into his face.  
She changed her tone. “He'll figure it out. They'll all see it in your eyes if you still look at me as though you've never been with me.” She smiled and took one of his big hands into both of hers and kissed the palm, playing with the fingers and intertwining them with hers. 

He leaned forward and caught her lips on his. When they broke away she looked relieved. 

“Thank you, Master Clegane.” 

He shook his head “I like that less than 'my lord'” he informed her. Her laugh sounded real. 

He stood and pulled her up from the floor. 

Sandor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a deep kiss, which she responded to eagerly. He became more aware of how intoxicated she was, noting her unsteadiness when he ended the kiss. He wasn't feeling so steady himself. She patted his chest and turned away to dim the lamps in the room. Before she reentered his arms she took a large sip of her wine but he didn't notice. He was drinking his.

She turned her back to him and moved her braid so that he could unlace her dress. She held the dress to her body, though he unlaced it, and excused herself behind her partition to take it off. He picked up his wine glass and trailed after her. When he rounded the corner she paused a moment, caught in the act of applying more white powder to the bruises down her neck and chest. He turned away, embarrassed to have witnessed this and realized why she had further dimmed the already dark room. He leaned against the wall and drained his glass. She stood, still in her shift, and walked to him with confidence. She took the cup from him and placed it on her vanity table. He made the decision to ignore the bruises. 

His hands were on her waist, over her ass and in her hair before he would think. Her hands were tugging at his shirt and her lips were on his chest. She got his shirt off and his pants unlaced and he had her shift coming up over her head as he reached to pick her up. She threw the discarded clothing on the floor as he carried her to the bed. 

She gasped as he dropped her on it, but his mouth and body were on hers within moments. She wasted no time finishing the job with his breeches and he kicked them off. She reached straight for him and guided him to her entrance. He couldn't control the moan he released as he slid in. Comparisons to any whore or serving girl he had ever been with were immediately lost, especially when he looked down at her beautiful, open face. Without thinking, he reached a hand between them to her thick patch of coarse, red curls as he bucked into her. He knew when he found her spot because her breath hitched, again and again, her hands gripping his hair. Eventually he removed his hand and let his lips find their way to her breasts. 

Sansa remembered herself and untangled her legs from around Sandor's waist. She pushed on his shoulder, indicating that he should roll over. He came out of her as they changed positions, but instead of climbing on top, she crawled down the bed. He pushed himself up on his elbows, but quickly dropped back down when her petite hand found the base of his cock and her tongue swirled around the head. He grunted when she took him fully into her mouth and had to close his eyes when her other hand began to fondle his balls. Sansa took him out of her mouth and kissed up the side of his shaft, murmuring something he couldn't understand while her hands worked. She took him fully back into her mouth for a few more strokes and seemed to realize how close he was. She popped him out, pumped a few times with her hand and told him “Don't come yet. I want to be on you.” 

He could process no thoughts. 

She climbed back up and straddled him, guiding him in her once more. It didn't take long before he reached up, grabbed her in a kiss and came, her hips still snapping into his. 

Sansa moaned through his release, but he had no idea if she had reached her peak. 

She rolled off of him after a few moments. He watched through bleary eyes as she pulled a few air pins out of her hair and put them on the stand, and then reached to pull the covers over them. Quickly after that point, he lost consciousness.


	4. Do you find me Beautiful?

He pulled his breeches up as he stood from the bed. Sansa still lay in it, sheets pulled up under her arms. They had both known the other was awake for some time, but had remained silent, lying in the morning sunlight. Sandor walked to the wash basin and began to splash water on his face. Sansa sat up, the sheet still tucked around her, and gazed out the window. 

“Did you mean it last night when you said I was beautiful?” She asked, eyes outside, with a practiced, casual voice. 

“Huh?” he grunted, looking at her through the looking glass. 

“Joffrey asked if you found me beautiful and you said yes. But I imagine you didn't have a choice and I just wondered.” She met his eyes for a few moments in the glass and gave her pleasing little smile, as though she didn't care. 

He scowled at her and finished washing, grabbing a towel as he turned to her. She was back to looking out the window. He had never seen her hair free and shining in the sunlight like this before. Not torn out in a beating, but comfortable for her to sleep in. He scowled again. 

“You the kind of chit who wants to be told all the time that she's a beauty?” 

She looked over at him with her contrite courtly mask back on. “No, my lord, pardon me.” 

He stalked across the room, irritated with her barbed use of the title, to pick up his shirt. When he turned around she was still looking at him but her eyes had narrowed. Unexpectedly she pressed the topic. 

“As a girl I was told I was beautiful all the time. But I was a child, I had a child's beauty-”

“You're still a child.” he ground out as he pulled his shirt on. 

Her face was passive as she pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned against the headboard. “Forgive the correction, Ser Hound, but after last night even you now have proof of my womanhood.” She didn't look at him as she said it, but turned to look out the window again, so he couldn't see her face. 

He sat on a chair next to the bed to begin pulling on his stockings. He had one on before he ground out a response. “Why do you need to ask if you're beautiful, with all the men who ask His Grace for a night with ye...?” 

She looked at him politely as he trailed off and turned back to finding his other sock. 

“That's why I asked. As often as not, I leave the night bruised and ugly and I just don't know how men see such things, if I could be considered beautiful, although I realize I'm still desirable. But with Lady Margery here-”

“-fuck lady Margery.” he muttered. 

She paused and watched him pull his boots on. She gave half of her practiced smile when he glanced her way and lay the side of her head on her knees. “Forgive me for being so talkative this morning.” 

His boots were on but he sat in the chair a few moments with his elbow on his knees. She was still looking at him. 

“You're beautiful, Little Bird.” he told the floor in front of him. When he got up the courage to look at her she buried her face in her knees. He suspected she had genuinely smiled. 

As he headed for the door she called after him “You haven't called me that in a year.” 

He stopped at the door but didn't turn. “And when was the last time someone told you you were beautiful?” He didn't know what compelled him to ask.  
“It was my father who said it.” 

He walked out before he could think about what she had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this gets a good response I'll continue with this story, likely with a few more lemons. Please let me know what you'd like to read more of.


	5. Secret Encounters

“She's adorable!” 

“She's so sweet!” 

“She's Cersei in five more years.” 

The last remark was Sansa's and all the ladies laughed, scandalized, while they admired Lady Margery Tyrell's new, shaggy, blond puppy. 

Margery exclaimed that Lady Sansa was 'too much' as all the ladies clucked and sniggered at the bold joke. 

“Forgive me, your highness.” Sansa begged dramatically. 

“Sansa, I am not a 'highness' yet.” Margery insisted demurely.

“Forgive me,” the redhead said again, smiling sweetly, “only a fortnight away.” 

They had been back in Kingslanding over two weeks now and Sansa had very little that filled her time. She helped Margery with wedding plans, appeared at social gatherings when expected and read, sewed, walked and listened. Among the young people Sansa often dominated the conversation, but she never allowed the discussion to be about her. Mostly she deflected towards Margery. 

“How do you imagine she will handle the wedding night?” Sansa asked the crowd of easily entertained women, still laughing at the Queen's expense. She picked up the puppy and made it shake one of its paws. 

“You be good to my beloved Joffrey.” She said with an exaggerated voice. The ladies devolved into giggles. 

“Sansa!” Margery exclaimed again, amused, but sufficiently shocked and dismayed for any listening ears. 

Sansa had made herself invaluable to the young Queen-to-be. She was the Tyrell-beauty's connection to the juiciest castle gossip, said sufficiently outrageous things so that Margery could respond with just the right diplomatic answer, and flattered the other girl in constant, subtle ways. She made a clear comparison for all of who would be the better queen, especially since Sansa had spent four nights in the last two weeks with the infamous Sandor Clegane. While this wasn't common knowledge, it wasn't unknown that Joffrey had given his Hound preferred access in his quest to destroy Sansa Stark. Generally Joffrey paid much less attention to Sansa these days, though he had sent her to bed with another member of his King's Guard the other night; one Ser Meryn Trant. With wine and coaxing Sansa had been able to appeal to the best side the man had, but could not keep the smile from her face when she heard the next day that the Hound had accidentally broken Ser Meryn's collarbone in the practice yards.

“You're too good my dear Margery.” Sansa insisted with a devious smile to the other ladies. “Is she not TOO good?”. 

This had become Sansa's clever strategy to make herself non-threatening. She knew that she would have made a great queen, that her manner made people disposed to love her, that kindness was her instinct and that she nearly always knew what to say. She also knew that now, all those things would get her killed. So she chose to be entertaining rather than kind, and charming rather than regal. Better to be desired than admired. Admiration would make her a target. 

Loras Tyrell cautiously edged his way towards the party. “May I interrupt ladies?” he asked charmingly “I must speak to my sister.” 

The ladies bid their farewells and stood to leave. Sansa parted from the other ladies and wandered to the staircase that went up the wall that bordered two sides of the inner garden courtyard. The other two sides were ocean cliffs. She knew Sandor was outside this time of day and it was likely he would see her ascend the stairs. The upper part of the wall had a waist high barrier and a roof over the walkway that was held up by columns. The corner where the two lengths of wall met had a few secretive nooks. Sansa stopped one pillar away from the corner and hugged it with one side, looking out across the ocean. 

Sooner than she expected his hand reached around her from behind, one covering her mouth while his other arm snaked around her waist. He dragged her to the corner and pushed her into a dark recess. Someone would have to walk around the corner to see them, and there wasn't much reason to walk the top of this wall. Nevertheless, there was a risk. They had never met like this before, but she had anticipated it as she had allowed him to steal only a few loaded smiles and touches in the last few days. 

He surrounded her now with his body, pushing her back into the rough stone, his arms caging her in. Sansa began to teasingly protest but Sandor grunted and pushed his body against hers, hard. Sansa quickly understood what he wanted and set her jaw, allowing her eyes to reflect the winter ice she knew so well. She brought her hands up to his chest and shoved, but of course he barely moved. He bent his head to captured her lips in a rough kiss and her arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him closer to her. They battled for supremacy, but there was only ever one possible outcome in such a match. Sandor consumed her. 

He broke off the kiss to reach down and lift her skirt. He smirked when he found she wore no smallclothes underneath. His fingers ghosted against her thighs and she pushed herself towards his hand. Sandor used his other hand to shove her back against the wall by the hips. Sansa bit her lip as she obeyed his direction and her hands went to his biceps. His face would never be beautiful to her, but Gods, his body. Even with the scars and dark hair she found it fascinating and attractive. 

Holding her eyes in his with stern command, he tickled at her inner thigh again, trailing his fingers up towards her moistening center. 

She held his eyes as he worked her, her lips parting just as he brushed against her cunt. She exhaled accusingly when he ended the contact. 

“Not a sound.” he warned darkly and Sansa nodded her agreement. She positioned one foot up on a ledge and reached to hold onto her skirts, still allowing enough to drape down so that what he did was not visible, but the fabric wouldn't hinder him. 

Sansa watched where his arm disappeared beneath her skirts as he began to tease up her leg again. Sandor watched her smile when this time he stroked her more firmly. When he broke contact again, however, Sansa let out an exasperated sound. Sandor wondered if she did this to test him and he quickly slapped between her legs. Sansa wasn't ready for this and let out a gasp as she tensed, earning herself another slap and she managed to swallow her response. 

Sandor nodded approvingly and Sansa tried to glare at him but she couldn't keep the edge of excitement out of her face. 

This time when he reached her folds he penetrated. Sansa bit her lip and rested her head against the wall. Sandor pumped in and out a few times and then reached with his other hand to fumble with his belt. Sansa immediately jumped in to assist and he allowed it, bracing himself against the wall with his arm again and continuing to toy with her. When she had his belt undone and breeches unlaced she looked to him for approval as her hand hovered. Sandor nodded and Sansa dipped her hand in, taking hold of his length. She then switched her grip to run up and down his shaft. 

Sandor stopped touching her so that he could lift her skirt and pin the bottoms to her waist with his hands as he gripped her around the middle and lifted her up. Sansa quickly wrapped her legs around his waist and put her hands on his shoulders. 

Sandor was easily able to hold her up with one arm when she was pressed against the wall and so he used the other to reach down and guide his member inside of her. Sansa maintained her silence but rolled her head back to bounce off the wall several times while biting her lower lip to express her pleasure. Sandor chuckled and began to pump into her. His adrenaline was high from the possibility of being discovered and he knew he wouldn't last long. Sansa began to breath heavily and loudly and Sandor gave her a harsh warning look. Sufficiently shamed, she tried to regulate the sound of her breath. 

As he came he dropped his head against her chest and he felt her clenching walls and was happy for the evidence that she had enjoyed the encounter. 

He let her fall softly to the ground and they both caught their breath. Sansa smoothed out her skirts and and straightened the bodice of her dress. The Hound tucked himself back in and fixed his clothing as best he could. Sansa patted at her hair but couldn't see what needed fixing. Sandor clumsily tried to tuck a few stray strands away for her and she smiled warmly at him. Without a word she kissed him softly on the lips and walked back towards a bench down the line. By the time she reached it and glanced back at the corner they had been in, he was gone. 

*****

Sansa sat at her bench for a quarter hour looking out over the garden. When the individual she was to meet had been settled for some time by a fountain, Sansa meandered her way back down. 

Wandering passed Lady Olenna, Sansa stopped to greet the old woman appropriately and accepted a seat near the Queen of Thorns when offered. 

The Lady of High Garden commented after the fine autumn weather and Sansa nodded politely. 

“How I DO worry about the coming winter!” the Lady told Sansa with an air of false intimacy, “How will we feed the people?” Her expression only barely displayed her expectation of an answer. 

Sansa did not change her demure expression or deferential tone. “I have it on good authority that Lord Tywin has 2,400 more sacks of grain stored away than he has admitted on official documents.” 

Only being as close together as they were could Sansa read the lady's reaction to this news. She continued.

“While he would deny this, as he has denied similar allegations before, I'm sure it would unsettle him to hear the exact number repeated. Though your Ladyship knows if it is worth the risk of potentially losing the source of the information.” Sansa covered her mouth as she shared this information and to anyone passing by it would look at though she laughed at one of the older ladies infamously inflammatory statements. 

“and what can I do for you my dear?” the lady asked earnestly. 

“Nothing.” Sansa answered sweetly as she rose from her seat. 

“As always.” Lady Olenna responded while shaking her head. 

“You are TOO good, Lady Sansa.” 

Sansa smiled and curtsied before walking away, hearing the last words the lady had said ring in her ear as she had said them herself not an hour before.


	6. Honesty

In the early evening Joffrey held court for petitioners. He sat in the throne, bored, and did very little talking, as Tywin Lannister sat in the Hand's chair and directed the conversation.

Most of the court talked softly in small groups around the room. Sansa stood by Littlefinger and his assistant and talked to her mother's old friend. Sandor was reminded that there were too many people who took an unhealthy interest in the Little Bird, himself among them no doubt. Around Lord Baelish Sansa played shy and demure and blushed when he touched her hair. Sandor gripped his sword hilt and turned his attention back to the king. 

When the proceedings were finished he was dismissed and all the members of the royal family went to their apartments to take their suppers and relax in the evening. Several people still milled around the hall, however, and Sandor watch Sansa bid Littlefinger a goodnight and wander over to a balcony. Sandor made his way slowly over there. 

It was common knowledge that Sansa often took time to talk with him each day in public. Most saw it as a service she did for all, as no one else wanted his company. He suspected that most also knew that Sansa was directed to warm his bed whenever he requested, but doubted anyone was aware that most such encounters had been initiated by her. 

He leaned his back against the rail a few feet away from where she stood and she smiled over at him when she saw. They could be seen, but not overheard. 

“A free and quiet night.” Sansa announced softly but happily. 

“Aye, and you've had a busy day.” he responded. 

The comment didn't require a response, nor did Sansa so much as blush. 

“What did the Lady Olenna want with you?” he asked casually. 

If Sansa was surprised that he knew she had spoken with the Lady, she didn't show it. 

“She and I share interests.” Sansa answered readily. She turned around and leaned against the rail as well. “I thought she would be interested to know about the extra grain stores Lord Tywin keeps in a warehouse in the city.” She informed him casually. 

Sandor laughed mirthlessly. “And how does she scratch your back, Little Bird.?” 

“Oh no,” Sansa replied with a smile, “our shared interest is her holding the Lannisters accountable to care for the people. I do what I can to make that happen.” 

Sansa looked more peaceful than Sandor had seen her in a year. For the past few weeks he had watched her play many different roles with different people, and more than one character with him. But she seemed to have chosen him as the person she would be honest with from time to time when they were alone. 

“Well,” Sansa laughed, remembering, “when I first told her that Queen Cersei's closest confidant has extensive gambling debts, Lady Olenna commissioned a dozen dresses for me from the seamstress she brought in for Margery. But I told her that kind of attention wasn't good for me.”

Sansa turned to look out at the setting sun again and Sandor glanced that way as well. 

Sansa went on teasingly. “It did remind the Lannisters that I was without financial benefaction, however, and that my ankles were beginning to show beneath my skirts. Cersie has kept me well dressed since than. Traitors daughter I may be, but she won't let it be said that a ward of the crown goes dressed like a pauper.” 

“And how did you come to learn such secrets?” Sandor asked in his low voice. 

“After they killed my father, no one seemed to think I could hear anything. Funny how people think those young and in grief are deaf.” Sansa said it all without derision or hostility. “And I never know what information can do some good in Lady Olenna's hands.” A spark of mischief entered her eyes, “Even if it is simply that Joffrey's manservant likes dark haired ladies with Dornish accents.” 

“And Lord Tywin's quarter-master who knew about the grain? ” Sandor asked. 

“Redheads with northern accents.” Sansa quipped with a smile and laughed at Sandor's scowl. 

They stood in silence for another minute looking out at the Sunset, Sandor brooded but Sansa seemed in the mood to chat.

“And should I thank you for injuring Ser Meryn?” she teased. “Is that your idea of romance?” Sandor grunted and didn't look her way. Sansa remained amused. “You know, you could simply pick me some red roses next time.” 

“I'll make the next one bleed, that red enough for you?” He responded gruffly. She laughed again and he loved it. “And that's as close to poetry as I'll come as well, so get used to it.” 

He looked at her smiling face and couldn't help but smile himself. 

“I wish that I could be in love with you.” Sansa told him, and he decided that she meant it as a compliment. 

“And why can't you love me, Little Bird?” 

Sansa thought about her response and pushed herself off of the wall. “Because the one time I thought myself in love I got my father killed.” 

“Good. Sensible.” It was how he truly felt. Her assessment didn't hurt him. 

“Don't you want me to love you?” She asked honestly. 

“No.” He replied. “I prefer you alive to in love.” 

Sansa smiled and shook her head as she turned to leave. “And you told me you didn't write poetry.” 

Sandor watched her walk away, to what he couldn't help but hope was a quiet night alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I keep intending lemons but love SanSan angst/cuteness.  
> -BurntO


	7. Hungover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday I realized "Shit. I need a plan for where this story is going."   
> So that's in progress. But here is a little banter to tide you over.   
> Thank you for the lovely support. I had forgotten about how publishing can bring you alive. We're so lucky to have these anonymous and available platforms for our work!

“Little Bird.” he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to wake her. “Wake up, beautiful.” 

“erhaa.” Was all he heard from the pillows. 

“A week ago you still got wet as a wench each time I called you beautiful.” 

“A week ago the sunlight was not poisonous.” the pillows answered. 

Sandor snorted and a soft hand waved in front if him seeking someone to hit. 

Last night Sansa had been Tyrion Lannisters partner at banquet and between the two of them Sandor suspected they had drunk a barrel of wine in order to fill the silences. Guests were pouring into King's Landing for the wedding and so there were banquets each night, though the royal wedding banquet would put them all to shame. Sandor had been on guard duty until sunrise and had come back to his room to find Sansa lying in his bed. 

“Get your arse up. I didn't make you drink your weight in wine last night, nor did I invite you into my room.” he said, changing tactics. Sansa pushed herself up onto her arms and then slumped back down. Sandor stood to take off his armor and prepare for a nap. Sansa finally sat up and rubbed at her face. 

“Why are you in my bed?” Sandor asked. “You knew I wouldn't be here last night.” 

“I know, I know.” Sansa yawned. “But it scared away Lord William of Termont's squire to see me walking in this direction. He certainly isn't willing to fight the Hound for me.” 

“He giving you trouble?” Sandor asked seriously. 

“No, his interest has simply outlived his usefulness.” Sansa narrowed her eyes in Sandor's direction “and that's not an invitation to kill him. I might need him later.” 

Sandor made a noise that made it clear his thoughts on the matter. 

“Should I be getting you moon tea, girl?” Sandor asked as he sat to remove his boots. 

“No.” Sansa assured him, swinging her feet out of bed, still squinting in the morning sun. “and it certainly never got to that point with Lord William's Squire.” 

Sandor gave her a pointed look, as Lord William's squire was not the primary individual he was concerned could parent a child.

“No, no.” Sansa assured him with a flap of her hand. “One of the Queen's ladies brings me a cup of moon tea everyday, whether they think I've been with a man or not, and waits to make sure I drink it. They want to control the production of any potential heir to Winterfell, legitimate or otherwise.”   
Sansa located one slipper and put it on. 

“An evening spent with the Imp!” she said to no one. “I'm surprised I feel as good as I do this morning.”

“I was surprised to find you waiting in my bed this morning, given his reputation.” 

“Oh no. He was just as ready as I was to drink himself under the table last night.”

“Well lucky me.” Sandor responded in a monotone, tossing her the other slipper. “But had it been otherwise, you were not in a state to manipulate the situation.” 

“Clegane, you know that nothing in my life is completely self determined. When a Lannister has ideas in his head, there is little I can do.” 

Sandor didn't press the point, as she was likely right to some degree. Though they sought each other out and had their secretive encounters, he was sure it was because someone was permitting or tolerating it. Nearly everything in the Stark girl's life was calculated by someone unseen. He also knew that she was referring to the fact that someone had designated that she be Tyrion Lannister's dining partner last night, and it certainly had not been Joffrey Baratheon, who hated his uncle. 

“Well, I'm off to freshen up and then it's the fitting for Lady Margery's wedding dress.” Sansa sighed, still massaging her temples. “Queen Cersei has tried her best all week to keep me from the Tyrells, but practically every woman in the castle will be there to see Margery's 700 gold dragon gown this morning.” 

She walked over and gave Sandor a kiss. 

“and if I find that poor boy from Termont pushed off of a wall, I shan't kiss you for a week.” she warned, and left.


	8. Honor

That morning Joffrey and Margery received gifts in the gardens of the Red Keep. The wedding was only a week away, and each night of the pre-wedding festivities, Sansa had been assigned a seat with Tyrion Lannister. After this morning's proceedings had finished, Joffrey had insisted that Sansa help his Dog enjoy the rest of the morning, and so Sansa had put on her most insincere -sincere smile and acquiesced. Once they were away from the courtiers she had relaxed some, but Sandor was stiff and agitated. When Sansa had presented her meager gift to the soon-to-be royal couple he had overheard a young knight's crude comment about the girl's red curls, though everyone could see her straight head of hair. The comment had put his already troubled mind on edge.

“What is it?” Sansa finally asked as they sat side by side on a wall near a balcony overlooking the ocean. 

Sandor had no idea how to answer the question. She had been so honest, so unexpectedly open with him, he wanted to do the same.

“I get upset when I hear people talk about you. More-so when I know that what they say is not wholly untrue.” 

Why was it that when she was honest it seemed like a gift, and when he was honest it sounded like an insult?

Sansa sat frozen, staring away from him. Her silence irked him. “When was the last night you went without a glass of wine? And you are not passed around every night, nor are you always with me, but I suspect you have not spent a night alone this week.” He leaned across her and saw her red cheeks and thin lips for a moment before she abruptly stood and walked to the edge of the balcony. She composed herself in silence for half a minute. Her voice had a trained indifference when she eventually replied “I'm sure that must be very difficult for you.” 

The seeds of guilt had began to settle in his mind the moment he had stopped speaking. His opportunity to reply was cut short, however, as a pair wandered into their area of the garden. 

Sansa turned towards the approaching footsteps and soft voices and immediately sunk into a low curtsy. Sandor also jumped to attention and bowed. The Queen Regent was walking the gardens arm-in-arm with her pet non-Maester, Qyburn. 

“Your Grace” they each murmured as the pair walked up. 

Cersei and Qyburn stopped a moment to exchange pleasantries. Sansa appropriately inquired after Tommen and asked if the Queen had enjoyed her nameday.  
“I enjoy them less and less as the years pass.” Cersei laughed. “But Lady Sansa, I do not recall blessing you as you entered Baelor's Sept on the Day of the Maiden. What kept you, were you ill?”

Sansa's entire face and chest colored scarlet, something she had not done when Sandor had implied his embarrassment at her reputation. If Sandor had begun to felt guilty before, he would now describe the feeling he had as shame. Sansa addressed the ground as she replied. 

“I did not wish to sully the day for the Maiden's other worshipers within the Sept, Your Grace, nor distract the devout from the outside.” 

Cersei gave a pleased and smug smile to the girl. “I am sure the Gods appreciate your thoughts for the pious.” Sansa curtsied again as the paired walked away. When she straightened she did so turning away from Sandor. She stepped back to the edge of the balcony and stared out at the ocean. Sandor sat back on the wall and watched her, sure any comment he made would only worsen the situation. 

She turned her head to address him over her shoulder, but didn't move her body, so her eyes didn't meet his as she broke the silence. 

“I understand that I've embarrassed you. Forgive me. I will use this evening to spend some time alone reexamining my priorities and behavior.” 

Sandor stood involuntarily and walked towards her as she turned her head back to look at the water. He stopped at her side, a step behind her. He caught a glimpse of heart-break before she arranged her features and turned to face him. 

She smiled sweetly and he hated it. 

He bit back his own angry response and lightly pushed away the hand that reached to stroke his face. 

“I won't ask you to excuse what I said. But know that I regret it. I'll not treat you as they do."

Her eyes softened, but there was sadness in them. He realized that she would forgive him anyway, because she was too good. He realized that the difference in the truths they spoke was that she was looking inward, while he only accurately described the cruel world. 

“You've every right to say such things to me. You know you do.” she answered softly. 

“Only because you're given no rights at all.” 

“I shouldn't forget that.” 

“I'm honored that in my presence you forget that.” 

Her smile was as genuine as the first time he had called her beautiful and he loved it. 

She tilted her head up, inviting his lips and he eased into the kiss. His arms wrapped around her and it was the sweetest thing there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be smut and lemons I promise.


	9. Hopeless and Romantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I intended when I began this story, but now it feels like I have to get it all out of my system before I lose the will to continue. I hope that you enjoy and that you can forgive the quickly written and posted musings of my beloved distraction. (Every time I look back over a chapter I find some typo).  
> Your comments keep me going and it is nice to share in the Sansan fan club (as it were) particularly when my friends have typically looked at me strangely when I've mentioned it (and certainly don't know I write fanfiction).  
> Cheers,  
> BurntO

“A marriage proposal?! Are you insane?!” she raved as she tore into his bed chambers that evening. The Hound sat on a stool, sharpening his sword, but gripped the handle as though ready for a surprise attack when she entered. 

“I was trying to protect you.” He grumbled, turning back to his work. 

“Protect me? Do you know what a marriage means? It means a legitimate heir to the North. A puppet for the Lannisters to control my father's lands.” she fumed. “Better you had requested me for a mistress.” 

“But would you have liked it any better?” he asked, pointedly and patiently. 

“Of course not!” she snapped. “I am a Stark, with nobility reaching back centuries on centuries.” She huffed and sprawled on his bed. He could not tell her how much he loved when she was in a temper, though he guess that she surmised as much when he failed to suppress a chuckle.

She sat up and glared at him again. “You presume too much even with a proposal of marriage, Oh-Second-Son of a House that has existed for what, a few generations?” 

Sandor went back to work on his sword and she cooled off on his bed. He put away his things and lay down next to her in silence and she curled against his side. 

“Sandor, you expose too much.” her muffled voice told his torso. His heart had never felt warmer with her breath on his chest and his name on her lips. 

“As you've said, they already knew.” was his reply, though what they knew, neither of them chose to specify. “And though you haven't told me, I know that something is about to happen.” 

She continued to nestle into his chest and declined to answer. Eventually he rolled on top of her and began planting kisses down her jaw and neck. Reluctantly she smiled and cupped the side of his head as his kisses traveled deeper between her breasts. He looked up at her smiling eyes and could not help but smile a bit himself. “But how can I repay the slight against your family's years of nobility?”

“Centuries” She corrected, with a serious lip and sparkling eyes. 

“Centuries.” He amended. 

She pushed herself up to a seated position and he knelt over her as she unlaced the front of her dress, unwrapping herself and wriggling out of the sleeves. While she tried to do all of this Sandor insisted on trying to kiss her all over and pawing at her hair. Eventually Sansa was free of her dress, but then there was the shift underneath which needed to be pulled over her head. Sandor made an irritated growl, true to his title.

“Aren't you supposed to be pleasing me, Hound?” Sansa responded. 

“For daring to try to make an honest woman out of you, yes.” He answered, drawing the slip over her head and tossing it aside. He immediately went back to kissing down her body and Sansa could not help but laugh at the sight of him, fully clothed, creating a trail of kisses towards the apex of her thighs. She lay back down and sighed as he ghosted kisses on her hip bones and clutched her waist. 

“Cersei was sure I had put you up to it someHOW” her voice hitched as he opened her legs and kissed her flower, almost politely. She continued on as he teased her thighs with kisses and massaged her hips, which fell open for him. “But Lord Tywin didn't seem to believe it-”

“Second son that I am.” Sandor interjected, depriving her from the feeling of his intimate breath for a moment. 

“Second son that you are.” Sansa agreed with a glare in his direction for neglecting his duty. 

“He, instead, was interested-” she was cut off again, but this time by the application of his tongue to her crease and the sharp intake of breath that it caused. “interested in whether I had received-” she continued for only a moment as he licked his way up to her clitoris “-any other proposals of marriage.”

The sound she released after this statement had less to do with Tywin Lannister and more to do with the sweet attention being paid her pink pearl. 

She devolved into a few minutes of deep breaths, her fingers finding places to hide in his hair, as his tongue and lips continued to service her clit and his fingers found her entrance and began pushing inside.

“And the rest of the small council?” Sandor eventually asked, immediately going back to work before she had the chance to reprimand him. 

“No one else was there.” She informed him, eyes closed and head thrown back. “I doubt-” her mouth opened in a silent appeal as he added a finger, “anyone else knows.” 

Sansa began to pant heavily and Sandor had to readjust his body to hold himself up. She was practically shoving his face into her now, and he could feel her legs and body tensing. He moved his fingers more urgently and tried to maintain steady, attentive action on her clit with his mouth. She was almost there but he had to ask. 

“And what did you think?”

“Recklessly romantic.” she breathed and came around his fingers as he continued to lavish her with attention, prolonging her orgasm for as long as he could. 

She lay exhausted as he kissed his way back up her body and lay next to her. As her breath evened out she turned to him and pulled him in a kiss, tasting what he had tasted. 

“I thought you were foolish,” she told him sincerely but sleepily, “but for a moment there, I thought we stood a chance.” 

“But we don't.” He said for her. 

“We don't.” She agreed, and closed her eyes.


	10. Another Day

It was made abundantly clear to Sansa that if anyone, particularly a Tyrell, found out about the wedding scheduled for the next day, she would never stop feeling the consequences. She had nodded cooperatively and said all the right things. It was better that they remain unaware that Lady Olenna had known their plans for a week, as had Sansa, and both were powerless. Better that Tywin believe there was someone who may yet have the power to stop him. It would give the Tyrells more leverage when the Queen of Thorns negotiated the terms for trying war criminals; this week's battle. 

She was told by Lord Tywin and Queen Cersei in the small council chamber, however the small council was notably absent. The only other person was Lord Tyrion, who barely spoke. The two of them had found some level of understanding in their evenings spent together at banquet, but that did nothing to mitigate the awkwardness and embarrassment. Though it was not said, Sansa knew that not even the King was aware of the engagement yet. 

The only reason that she herself had been told was so that she could make arrangements to leave King's Landing the day after her wedding. It had been realized that any number of responses Joffrey was likely to have to his favorite plaything being given to his least favorite uncle were unfavorable. Conflict within the Lannister household did not need a stage. Sansa had also become too much of an asset and friend to Margery.

So before the royal wedding Tyrion, and his new wife, would leave for Casterly Rock.

Sansa had very little she needed to do. When she arrived back at her room she ordered a maid to make sure all of her things were washed and packed, telling her that she was moving rooms the day after next, and to have her blue gown pressed and ready for the morning. After that, all she had to do was sort some papers at her desk, deciding which letters and notes she wished to keep. 

Instead of wading into that just yet, however, she knew she needed to go find him. For her own sake. She told another maid to prepare a large hot bath and then she wandered down to the training yards.

She knew he wouldn't be finished yet, but she had begun to enjoy watching him practice. As much as she disliked violence, what he did had subtle artistry, though affection for the artist may have influenced her conclusions. She made sure to keep some distance and wander the yards watching all of the knights and soldiers at work. 

When she saw him leaving the practice courts she casually intercepted him on his way to the stables where he stored his gear. 

“It is such a beautiful day, is it not Master Clegane?” 

He grunted in her direction in way of a greeting as she fell into step with him. 

“As you are not on duty until this evening, I wished to extend an invitation for you to join me in my chambers as soon as you can.” she turned on her most flirtations smile and displayed her physical assets as best she could. 

He grunted again, though with some amusement. “I'm sweatier than a whore in a Sept so it will have to wait some.” he responded. 

“I've arranged a bath for us.” She informed him with a wink, and turned and walked away, sure to swing her hips as she went. He couldn't suppress his chuckle as he walked in the stable to put away his practice sword and armor. 

As she walked away she knew that she had made the correct decision not to tell him. Right now she didn't need her last day with him, she needed another day with him. It wouldn't do him any good either to spent a few more hours knowing there was nothing to be done. 

She arrived back at her rooms and knew that he would be arriving shortly. Fortunately, her maids were gone and the hot bath sat ready behind her partition. Sansa undressed and let down her hair, sinking into the water. She lay with her eyes closed and eventually heard the door open. 

“I'm back here!” She called, and opened her eyes to see him rounding the corner. He stopped, splitting a large grin, and leaned against the wall to enjoy the view. 

“My lord,” she mock complained, “that look on your face is positively predatory.” 

His smile widened. “And yet why do I feel I am the one who has been hunted this morning?” he asked. “Still now you're trying to lure me in to what could be very dangerous waters.” 

Sansa was ready for the bait. She lifted one leg out of the water and put in on the edge of the large tub and then followed suit with the other. “I promise these waters are very welcoming” she informed him sincerely. 

He laughed his deep, barking laugh and it filled her with a warmth the hot water never could. She dropped her sultry act and closed her legs. 

“Come now.” she ordered. “You're as dirty as the Hounds your named for.” 

He chuckled again and began to divest his sweat-soaked clothing. The tub was large, but not huge, and Sandor could easily fill it by himself. At first Sansa tried to make room so that he could climb in with her, but once he was halfway in she had to fully climb out so that he could submerge before she climbed back in and on top of him. 

Neither of them rushed into sex. Sansa just wanted time with him, a carefree afternoon. Sandor was addicted to her touch in any form. Sansa picked up a cloth and the soap and began washing him. He complied each time she told him to lean forward or raise an arm. Occasionally she she had to scold him when his response was delayed, too busy brushing her hair out of her face or watching her smile. 

At some point he began talking about his childhood puppy and she would not let him cease until she had all the stories he could remember of the trouble the dog caused around his family keep. She ended up leaning against the other side of the tub, her feet on his stomach, and his hands ended up rubbing her soles and playing with her toes. Eventually they both fell silent, just sitting in the water as it cooled. 

Finally she insisted it was too cold and she would catch her death, even if he was fine. He teased her for being a southron girl now. She clambered out and tucked herself in a robe and located a toweling cloth he could use. The cloth was only wrapped around his waist for a few minutes before he herded her towards the bed and took charge of the ties on her robe, tossing the garment across the room. 

Sansa pushed back all the thoughts that continually clamored for attention: the dread of the days ahead, the fear for this man's life, the fear for her own, her duty to the people of the North, the pressure to remember this moment, etc. 

Their coupling was long and gentle. Sandor stayed on top and in charge. Sansa moaned and sighed and held nothing back. Sandor was everywhere, only semi-consciously trying to map and memorize her body. His hands were on her waist and in her hair, his lips on her breasts and her face. Sansa held on, as though for her life, and experienced. 

When it was done, Sansa pretended to fall asleep against him. Sandor lay with her for several minutes before carefully extracting himself. She felt his eyes on her as he put back on his dirty clothes and crept out of the room. She lay still for a few more minutes after he left, mastering her emotions, before rising and walking to her desk with a determination to keep herself busy.


	11. This is a good thing

Tonight was a rare night without a banquet. Instead, the royal family was having a more informal gathering for close friends and important Houses. Sandor went to take his place by the King, relieving Jaime Lannister who was now a guest at the proceedings. 

Joffrey could not contain himself and quickly shared the news he had learned as soon as he saw his Dog. 

“Hound, my Sansa is to marry that ugly half-man come morning.” he informed Sandor without introduction, nodding his head in the direction of his uncle. Sandor hid his shock and revulsion at this revelation and only nodded sourly in the King's direction. 

“My grandfather feels the North will be less likely to rebel if ruled by someone with some Stark blood,” Joffrey continued. “barbarians and whores.” 

Sandor's mind was reeling. The hours they had spent together earlier. She knew. She must have known.  
Joffrey's cruel laugh broke through his worried thoughts, “You'll get at least the one more night with her though, Dog. I'll see to that.” Joffrey fell silent as Margery curtsied and took a seat beside him and ended his focus on Sansa and his sworn shield to talk to his betrothed. 

Sandor watched Sansa enter the room and circle it to greet the other guests, immediately locating a glass of wine when she entered. As though real time had slowed, he noticed the extra minutes she spent greeting Tyrian Lannister, she way she bowed her head to him and leaned in close to listen to his responses. She avoided Sandor's gaze from the minute she entered the room, but eventually she allowed herself to looked at him and he looked away as quickly as he could. He was sure she would realize that he knew. She had become very good at reading people, him in particular.

She found a group of young people, as she always did, drank a second glass of wine, making jokes about the new High Septon and listening as they gossiped about the royals. After hours of uneasiness, the party began to break up, but Joffrey called her knot of 'friends' back to his chambers and Sandor and Sansa were forced to follow. 

Sandor could sense her discomfort and uneasiness. She must have deduced that Joffrey knew what was to take place tomorrow morning and that she would soon be a married woman. 

As soon as they settled into the room Joffrey called Sansa to his side and she appeared with a smile.  
“Yes, your Grace?” 

Joffrey could not tell the room which included his wife-to-be, a Tyrell, that Sansa was to be married in the morning to his uncle, though Sandor could sense he wanted to vent his frustration about the arrangement. 

“Sansa, I feel I've neglected you in recent weeks, orphan that you are.” Joffrey improvised. “You need a consistent father figure in your life and I, as your King, should have ensured you had one to tuck you in each night.” 

Sansa looked at the floor, ashamed as was expected, and Sandor glowered behind the king. 

“Hound!” The King feigned inspiration, “I am protected my a collection of gold cloaks outside my door, take care of my dear Sansa. Have a glass of wine with her. Provide that paternal element to her evening.”

Sandor nodded curtly to the King and stepped away from the dais. Sansa turned on her heels and led him towards a seat as far away from the King as she dared. When she finally met his eyes the anger that was boiling up in him was overcome with despair. A reproach had been on the tip of his tongue, but he doused it with the knowledge of the tears she must have shed just hours before. 

He sat and she made a show nestled herself in beside him, tucking her feet underneath herself. 

“Try to look as though you are lecturing or scolding me.” She said with the bravest smile she could muster, acting as though this were some amusing joke. She gestured to servant, “Let me get us glasses of wine.” 

Sandor found the anger rising in him again and bit it back. “I fear that chiding and scolding you comes too naturally to me. I wish they didn't, but incase this is my last opportunity I must warn you to stop this excessive drinking. Don't let anyone push you to ruin your life in this way.”

She drew back some at his words and her face flushed with emotion. “Is there not some poetry in me choosing the thing that ruins my life?” she tried again to joke, but she stopped herself when she looked at his face. “You are right. I know it.” She quickly soothed him in hushed tones. “You have been heard.” 

A servant handed them each glasses of wine and she took only a small sip and then set hers on the table. He took a sip of his as well, his eyes not leaving her, and set his glass beside hers. “You knew.” He finally broke the silence. He tried not to make it sound accusatory, yet she looked apologetic none the less. 

“You feel affection for me. Do not begrudge me the opportunity to relish one more afternoon of carefree pleasure.” Her words were direct and honest, and any selfish resentment left him. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. He only nodded. 

“This is a good thing.” he told her quietly. He wanted her to know that he could think beyond the impact to their strange relationship. He felt such a desire to be remembered well by her. “You will get to have a family. Men will be in danger of losing their lives for touching you wrongly. This is a good thing.” 

“It is.” She admitted sadly. She looked away before adding “But we will leave King's Landing before the sun sets day after tomorrow.” 

This really was the last night he would see her for several years at least, and never again in this way. 

“Well.” He said gruffly in lieu of an answer. He reached for his wine glass and drained it. “Well.” he said again, glancing around the room. 

He stood, pushing Sansa up with him and spinning her slightly so that she could proceed him out of the room, his hand on her shoulder. 

“Move along,wench.” he informed the redhead with a rough and false bravado. “I have a bed needs warming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that its been so long. The holidays and other things got in my way. This story should be wrapping up in the next week. Thanks for all the love!  
> <3 BurntO


	12. Another Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha remember when I said I would wrap it up in a week? Sorry about that.  
> Much love,  
> BurntO

As they exited the King's chambers she took her glass of wine with them. She avoided his eyes as she picked it up but he didn't press the matter. Sansa lead Sandor to his rooms, not wanting to face the image of her best gown hanging ready for the morning, or her trunks resting packed by the door. He was right; this was a good thing. But for whatever reason, leaving him made her ache. It was her one regret. 

When they arrived at his room they both became awkward. He kissed her cheek and walked over to his dresser and began to remove his armor. Sansa thought about going to help him but instead sat on the edge of his large arm chair and sipped her wine. 

“Don't stop now.” She teased when he turned to look at her, down to his tunic and breeches. 

He smiled, but it quickly faded from his face. He walked over to her chair and knelt in front of it, taking her hands in his. 

“I took the farewell I wanted this afternoon.” she told him softly. “Tell me what you need.” 

Sandor looked into her face, seeming to scrutinize it for a moment. He pushed her hair away from her shoulder and placed gentle fingertips on her neck. She knew he was gently reenacting the gesture that had caused the bruises that currently adorned her skin. 

“Start by giving me the name of the walking dead man who gave you these and follow it up with a list of any man who has touched you against your will.” He said it with mock playfulness and an edge.

Sansa provided a dark chuckle, but distinctly refused to acquiesce to his request. 

“Fine. I'll figure out the list for myself.” he replied gruffly and with the hint of a sad smile. “It will keep me productively occupied for a while at least.” 

Although he sat on his haunches and she on the chair, their eyes were still level. Slowly and tenderly Sansa closed the gap between their lips. Sandor raised himself up to press into her kiss, forcing her back into the chair, causing her entire landscape to be filled with him and only him. She knew that this was never his intention, to devour and envelope her, he simply couldn't help it, such was his physicality and his personal nature. She loved it not for what it was, not because she preferred large, powerful men, but because it was what he was. 

Sansa allowed herself to be surrounded by the full back of the comfortable chair and his immoveable presence, with his tongue invading her mouth, his hands cupping her face and his body blocking out the light and cold. 

She had at the beginning tried to give back as strongly as she received, though she always fell short. Eventually she realized that he liked her gentle caresses, the way she articulately mapped his body and her attention to detail when they were intimate. She knew he didn't like it because he was a man who craved tender attention, but because it was what she most authentically gave. 

Her back arched and she moaned when he found her earlobe and grazed it with his teeth. The warm breath of his chuckle against her ear only spurred her on more and her legs fought her skirts and she tried to wrap them around him. “The little bird still knows how to chirp.” he whispered in her ear and she moaned again though was quickly drowned out when he initiated another long, deep kiss. 

Finally he reached his arms around her body and dug her out of the chair. She was eager to cling to him as he transported her the few steps to the bed. 

They tumbled into it together, one big mess of limbs, inefficiently removing clothing while remaining as physically close to one another as people possibly could. The unconscious desire was to waste no opportunity for contact, to maximize their skins' exposure to one another as though filling a bottle to the brim for a long journey. 

Sansa did not reach a climax, but that was not what she was looking for. When Sandor finished they continued to caress one another and eventually she fell asleep tucked under his arm, his fingers still winding their way through her hair. 

She woke before the sun, knowing she must only have slept a few hours. She lay in his arms listening to his breath. As the light entered the room, she carefully extricated herself and redressed, avoiding looking at his sleeping form. She paused at the door, considering turning back to kiss his sleeping brow, but exited instead.


	13. New beginnings

Lady Olenna had joined Cersie in preparing Sansa for the wedding, clearly uninvited, and her authentic fondness helped Sansa to set a hopeful mood for the day. 

The wedding passed in a blur, but Sansa was not entirely unpleased. Under the circumstances it was the best she could have hoped for. She looked beautiful, was paid compliments and given gifts, and Joffrey took out his anger more on his uncle than on her. The ceremony and party were both modest, and Sansa managed not to think about all the faces not in the room which should have been. 

She was determined to make something of this new life. As the guests prepared for the bedding ceremony and a joke about Sansa's virtue escaped the mouth of a drunk nobleman Sansa quipped that it was fitting, as her Lord husband's virtue was in even less renown. Even Tyrion managed to chuckle along, wise to the fact that others cannot mock what you admit to. 

Their coupling held an edge of awkwardness and formality, her the romantic turned pragmatist, him a cynic with a longing for sentiment. 

The next morning they exchanged smiles and each went about their business, preparing to leave for Casterly Rock before noon. Sansa met up with her husband again in the stables as they mounted their horses and rode side by side to the courtyard where their entourage was gathering. 

They stopped on the edge of the bustling horde of wagons, servants and men at arms. Sansa nearly felt him before she spotted him atop his mount, Stranger, across the way. Her breath caught involuntarily. 

“Clegane will relocate with us to Casterly Rock.” Tyrion said in answer to the question that had not yet even formed in her mind. Sansa turned to face him, but he continued to survey the chaos. 

“My Lord?” Sansa asked, regaining her composure. 

“Forgive me.” Tyrion answered, glancing at her face with a hint of a smile. “Sandor Clegane is over there by the kitchen, I had just noticed him. My father was never happy that he was made a member of the Kingsguard and has been looking for an excuse to dismiss him.” 

Tyrion instructed his squire to go alert everyone that they were prepared to depart and turned to Sansa again. “As our son will be the heir to the North, the head of House Lannister feels we merit some competent protection, so I requested that the Hound accompany us.” Sansa nodded politely, still processing. 

“I realize that he is not much to look on, but neither am I.” Tyrion added with the cheeky tone he was known for. “And I hear that Dogs are MOST loyal.” Sansa gave Tyrion her first genuine smile and looked back to Sandor just as his eyes finally found her. 

Tyrion smiled in spite of himself, again surveying the crowd in front of them. “Come, wife, we have a long journey ahead and do not be fooled, it is sure to be difficult.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> I cannot help but end with hope. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and support. They were what kept me writing. Truly though, I don't have many creative writing opportunities in my life right now, so having readers means a lot to me and I deeply appreciate you. I realize this ending is something of a cop-out, but this story came to me in scenes and not in narrative, so I strung them together the best I could. I hope to keep exploring my GOT OTP sansan. I have one other Sansan story posted that I hope you'll check out. Again THANK YOU, blessings, etc, good night ;)   
> -BurntO


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